


Dean Winchester is Not a Pervert

by slutpunk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Begging, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, First Time, M/M, Marking, Nipple Play, Possessive Dean, Rimming, Twink Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:06:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slutpunk/pseuds/slutpunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's never had much patience for moral dilemmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester is Not a Pervert

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ, now available on AO3!

Dean Winchester knows he has a problem. Well, it isn’t always a problem because sometimes they actually are over the age of 18 and, therefore it’s completely legal for him to plow himself so deep into such a young, pliable body that’s so willing and eager and did he mention  _young_?  
  
First things first: he’s not a fucking pedophile, okay? Some places on the internet called it a Lolita complex, although he’s not entirely sure that it works for this situation. In the wide, crazy world of homosexuality it’s more like a Twink complex. Twink as in boys who are legal, but still smooth all over, but still tight on the inside and with an innocence that fades so quickly - mostly thanks to people like Dean.  
  
Usually Dean does okay. He hooks up with the ones that are all lithe, small bodies and smooth, perfect skin, but still legal (or just barely). He’s got a system, a way of managing this addiction so if he gets any flack, mostly from Gabriel (“It’s okay to be a pervert, Dean,” he said last time Dean had a guilt trip, but it hadn’t been very convincing when Gabe had his hand down the front of some dude’s designer jeans) and Sam (“Dean, just be careful. I really do not want to be defending you against charges of statutory rape”). But Dean’s always been careful, always bailed if it seemed like they were lying just so they could get laid and, as a rule, he never fucks virgins.  
  
But he’s pretty sure he’s going to get arrested for this.  
  
The boy currently writhing in his arms is sixteen, at best, if Dean was rounding up enthusiastically. He’s got one hand wrapped around the boy - Cas, he said his name was Cas - jerking his cock in slow languid pulls. They’re pressed up against the wall right beside his door, hadn’t even made it into the bedroom before the boy was pulling him in, those high, smooth cheekbones grazing against his cheek before their lips found each other’s and there wasn’t any more time for words.  
  
If asked, Dean’s gonna blame the alcohol, even if he knows it’s not why he had chosen to say, ‘Fuck you!’ to all his rules. He just couldn’t resist this time.  
  
Dean had spotted him while he was out on the dancefloor, a sweet, young one grinding against his crotch and he was into it, trying to decide if this one was as old as he claimed to be, trying to decide if he cared, when the strobe lights flashed red then white and then, as if he appeared from nowhere, Dean saw him sitting at a small table by himself. A tan coat was thrown over the back of the chair and he had a drink in his hand. He was dressed simply in a white button down shirt and dress pants, looking for all the world like a businessman who just got off work.  
  
Except Dean knew about these things, okay? He knew how to spot a minor when he saw one and he knew that there was no stopping the way his cock gave an eager twitch in his pants. How could it not? Not when he was looking at such a smooth face, all sharp angles and big eyes (he wondered what color they were,  _needed_  to know) and sweet lips. He looked tall, maybe six-foot, but he was skinny, probably still working his way out of the gangly phase of puberty and damned if that didn’t make Dean itch to find out.  
  
He tried to reason with himself that he’d be better off with this one, that he would be safer with someone who actually looked like they could be eighteen rather than someone who looked like they probably had to bribe their way into this club with a fucking blowjob in order to get in.  
  
Dean tried, but not fifteen minutes later he had his hand on the boy’s leg and then ten minutes after that they were making out in one of the hallways and then twenty minutes later they were getting a cab and now --  
  
The boy - Cas, remember his name, Dean, might need to tell it to Sammy when you’re getting sued by this kid’s parents - is panting into his ear, all low and needy. He’d been surprised when the kid opened his mouth and such a low, grave, rumble of a voice came out. He’d been surprised and then he was definitely popping a boner because there was no way this kid wasn’t just on his way out of puberty, not when his voice was jumping like that (and, course he couldn’t stop picturing all the ways he’d make his voice break later).  
  
It’s too hot in his apartment as usual, but Dean can’t bear to take his hands off Cas yet, not when the boy’s just starting to move his hips in short, needy little thrusts, not when the boy wraps his arm around Dean’s neck and pulls him in close to whisper, “I want you to fuck me.”  
  
The sound Dean lets out then probably resembles the sound of a gazelle dying, but he does not care. Instead, he just wraps his arm around the boy’s waist and tightens his grip around the cock in his hand, reveling in the way Cas moans so fucking loud, right in his ear. He hears the sound of the guy’s coat dropping to the floor and he’s glad for it because it just means less clothes to get rid of.  
  
Lips, chapped, but somehow still soft, mouth at his neck gently then - as Dean’s finger strokes over that sensitive little spot under the head of the boy’s cock - teeth bite down and Dean lets out a yelp of surprise, his cock straining forward even more.  
  
He slams forward and he wonders if the wall is pressing into the boy’s bony limbs, wonders if he likes the bite of the pain, but he doesn’t wonder about it for much longer because then Cas’s legs are opening, one coming up to hitch around his waist. A thought overwhelms him and Dean needs to find out if it would be that easy.  
  
Letting go of the boy’s cock is hard (pun intended), but he needs both hands for this. Dean gets a good grip on the back of Cas’s thigh, feels the way the muscles twitch under his palm and then reaches for the other leg. Cas catches on quick and, with a little jump, both his legs wrapped firmly around Dean’s waist, Dean’s hands planted on that firm ass and pressing him into the wall to keep him upright.  
  
Like this, Cas is up a little higher and, Dean realizes with a hunger that shoots straight to his cock, puts his chest level with Dean’s face.  
  
“Open your shirt.” He would go at the buttons with his teeth, but that would take a lot more time and he’s losing patience fast.  
  
They manage to balance precariously, as if their desire and need is all that props them up. Dean tries not to think about how badly he wants to feel that not-so little cock in his mouth, to make this kid lose control just with his mouth because he knows if he thinks about it too much he’ll end up blowing his load and if he’s gonna go to jail he’s gonna make this worth it.  
  
Cas’s hands tremble a little as he works quickly and efficiently to open his shirt and Dean tries to reason that no virgin would beg to be fucked the way this kid did just moments ago. He tells himself that at least he won’t be popping anyone’s cherry tonight, but then he loses all train of thought as more and more skin is revealed to him.  
  
It’s just as perfect as he thought it would be, still covered in the barest of peach fuzz and so  _smooth_. No scars, just one mole right next to his left nipple. Nipples that are hard and  _pert_  and Dean needs to have his mouth on them yesterday.  
  
He tries to be patient, tries to slow it down a little by flicking his tongue over one nipple first and feeling the way this tight little body jolts in his arms, feeling a little wetness leak onto his shirt from where the head of Cas’s cock is pressing against his chest. Dean sucks it into his mouth gently, soft little sighs raining down on him as he pulls at it with just the lightest graze of teeth. Hands are threading through the short scruff of his hair as he keeps sucking, keeps flicking, leaving a trail of love bites between each nipple. He doesn’t realize at first how rough he’s getting, how now he’s got one nipple clenched tightly between his teeth while his tongue works over it in hard flicks. He doesn’t even know how, but one arm is wrapped around the boy’s waist, holding him upright while his free hand pinches and pulls at the nipple his mouth isn’t glued to.  
  
Alcohol, it’s gotta be the alcohol, Dean argues internally. That’s the only reason why he’s grunting out words like, “You like that, don’t you? Like having your nipples tortured, huh? Such pink, sluttly nipples.” He tries to tell himself that he’s not like this normally, that he has  _rules_  and  _guidelines_  and a  _moral_   _code_  and that he’s just too drunk to care.  
  
But Cas is whimpering back, “Yes, please. Suck them, please, feels so good. Dean,  _please_.”  
  
It’s his name that does it. Hearing his name whimpered out like a fucking prayer and it’s so lewd, so innocent, so fucking perfect that Dean has to take a minute, has to pull away from those greedy fucking nipples to force his tongue into Cas’s mouth, to map out all the curves of it and claim it for his own.  
  
This is definitely worth going to jail for.  
  
Cas’s hands are pulling at his hair, at whatever bits of it they can grab hold of and it sends shockwaves down Dean’s spine. He can feel Cas murmuring words against his lips, gasps of, “Need you to fuck me, please fuck me,” between kisses.  
  
Dean feels like his knees will give out under the next wave of lust that rushes over him as he groans out, “Gonna make you fucking _choke_  on my cock.”  
  
Later, he’s not even sure how he managed it, but next he’s dropping Cas down onto his bed and yanking his own shirt off like it’s on fire. The boy is sprawled over his bed, white shirt still half-buttoned, pants low around his hips and the tip of his cock peeking over the waist of his briefs, leaking precome out in a slow ooze. The high arches of his cheeks are flushed bright red, Dean can see evidence of the mess his hands made of Cas’s hair and the spattering of love bites trailing all over every bit of skin that had been allowed to him.  
  
It’s all so fucking perfect that Dean feels like he might just die and, if he did, it would be okay because at least he got to have  _this_.  
  
Cas pulls his shirt off the rest of the way and then sits up, looping his fingers through Dean’s belt loops and tugging him close. “I believe you said something about making me choke on your cock?”  
  
So matter of fact, but somehow it made Dean feel like he was gonna fucking explode to hear such lewd words come from such a sweet mouth. He let his hands stroke slow over the panes of that sharp face, a face that makes him think of angels from old painting, the righteous, warrior type ones. Fingers trace over lips with his thumb and gasping when Cas’s mouth opened to it, when a pink tongue traced over it, promising more.  
  
“ _Fuck_ , Cas. Gonna fill up every bit of you. Gotta get my cock wet for that hole of yours, don’t we?” Cas’s eyes widened then darkened and he did nothing more than nod, fingers working to undo the front of Dean’s jeans, pushing them down just enough to allow him to reach past the fabric of his boxers and pull out the thick length of him.  
  
The kid’s hand was smooth, but firm as it stroked over him. There was a pause and those glinting blue eyes glanced up at him as if shy, as if suddenly, after all he said, he was nervous. Dean prayed to whatever god of homos that existed that this kid wasn’t a fucking virgin on top of it all.  
  
“It’s okay, Cas. It’s okay.” His hands caressed through that mop of hair, stroking gently, comforting, “Just open your mouth.”  
  
Cas blinked up at him for one moment then, making his decision, licked his lips and opened his mouth for Dean.  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
He went slow, pushing the head of his dick into Cas’s mouth and ordering him gently to, “Suck.” He tried to focus on Cas, on taking it easy, on being nice about it when all he wanted to do was bury himself as deep as fucking possible. But he took his time, pushing in ever deeper until Cas had almost half of his cock in the slick warmth of his mouth.  
  
After that things went a lot faster. Dean tried to keep on encouraging the kid, to stay nice about it, but soon Cas’s enthusiasm took over and next thing he was bobbing his head over Dean’s cock like a fucking pro.  
  
“Just like that, Cas. So fucking good. So fucking warm and tight.” Dean’s hands rested at the back of Cas’s head, then it turned more into two fists that started dragging the kid forward. But Cas isn’t pulling away, isn’t begging him to stop, instead Cas is moaning around his cock and it only makes Dean want to push deeper, to fuck that mouth harder.  
  
So he does. He keeps pumping his dick in and out of that sweet mouth, breath hitching like he’s running a fucking marathon because the sound of Cas gagging is bouncing off the wall of his room and he wishes he could record them so he has something to remind him why jail was worth it.  
  
When he finally drags Cas’s mouth away from his cock the kid’s eyes are all heavy with lust, the blue in them almost turned black. His mouth is shiny with spit and Dean has to know, has to lean down and suck that tongue into his mouth, groaning when he tastes himself there. A tang of salt and alcohol and something so sweet, like eating a strawberry.  
  
He pushes forward until Cas is spread out on his back again, looking like some kind of perverted meal laid out just for Dean. He can’t help wrapping his mouth around those nipples again, sucking on them brutally hard until Cas’s body is arching up towards his mouth. But Dean knows he’s gonna get that sweet little cock in his mouth tonight, knows that he needs to taste every bit of this boy and remember as much as he can because there’s no way something this good could last long, especially for him.  
  
Dean maps out every dip and plane of Cas’s body, burning it into his memory. The bite of sweat on his tongue, the shock like he’s licking fucking lightning, the soft brush of hair against his chin where that little trail of dark hair leads down to his goal.  
  
“Up,” Dean manages to growl out as his hands fist in the waistline of Cas’s pants and briefs and, when the boy lifts his hips up, he yanks them down and off in one, very much practiced, motion.  
  
Dean allows himself another moment to just admire the way this boy looks spread out on his bed, to ingrain it in his mind. The blush has seeped beyond his face now and spread down over his neck, his mouth open to let out little gasps and moans and Dean promises himself that he’ll have Cas screaming by the end of the night. Finish on a high note, as they say.  
  
Reaching out, he grabs the back of Cas’s knees and pulls, manhandling him until his ass is positioned at the end of the bed. Dean drops to his knees then, right between Cas’s legs and pushes them up, spreading him wide open.  
  
“Whatever you do, don’t let go.” Dean tries to make it a suggestion, but somehow it comes out more like a threat and he watches the pointy bob of Cas’s Adam’s Apple jump as he nods.  
  
He finally lets himself look at the boys cock then, gives into that desire to see him all spread out for the taking. It’s almost standing straight up, twitching every so often and Dean takes pride in knowing how much Cas enjoyed taking his cock in his mouth that he’s still hard, in knowing he didn’t even have to touch the kid to make him practically leak onto himself. The view is perfect, with access to every bit of Cas.  
  
Dean starts out easy, knowing how quickly boys like this can come (but also knowing that it’s just as easy to get them revved up again when their hormones are driving them wild). He grasps Cas around the base and licks a long trail up the underside of his cock before taking the head of him into his mouth. He goes easy on the teeth, on the force of his sucking, keeping it simple, for now.  
  
Cas tastes just like Dean imagined he would: clean and salty and fucking  _beautiful_. Soon, he’s bobbing his head over that perfect little cock (it’s not that little, but compared to Dean everything about Cas is little and he  _likes_  it that way) taking him deeper and deeper until he can feel the head of him nudging against the back of his throat. But he doesn’t gag, doesn’t seize up because Dean Winchester has spent too much time taking too many cocks down his throat and he knows how this goes.  
  
And Cas,  _Jesus_ , Cas is just beautiful. His hands are clutching at the backs of his thighs, indents of red and white appearing on his skin where his fingers grip hard. He writhes and arches and moans, sounding like a fucking porn star, like the best fucking porn star in the world and it’s innocent and lewd and just so damn good. Dean takes pride in knowing that it’s his mouth driving Cas wild, just his mouth sucking on his perfect cock that is making Cas gradually lose control of himself.  
  
It’s then that Dean moves on, that he lets his hand do most of the work while he dips his head down to suck, first one, then the other ball into his mouth and unable to stop watching as Castiel’s body seizes up and he strains into Dean’s hand. Cas is panting out whimpering moans, begging, “Dean, please. Oh! Oh, please!”  
  
His mouth moves further, licking long strokes over Cas’s perineum and just watching him  _squirm_. “Don’t worry, baby, gonna take such good care of you.”  
  
He’s still not a hundred percent sure if this kid is a virgin, but Dean knows for a fact that he’s gonna get inside that sweet ass one way or another.  
  
But it’s only after, when Cas has all but come with Dean’s hand wrapped around him, when Cas has become little more than a babbling mess from his cock in Dean’s mouth and his tongue licking long, teasing strokes over every bit of skin he can reach (which is quite a lot), it’s only then that Dean slaps at the sensitive skin on the inside of Cas’s thigh and orders him to turn over, to get on all fours for him.  
  
Cas gives him a look then, a look that basically just screams, ‘Virgin,’ but Dean’s already decided he’s not gonna let that stand in his way. So he rises up so he’s bent over Cas’s body, his hands stroking so gently, so sweetly over all that smooth skin just begging to be moulded into something dirty by his hands.  
  
“I told you not to worry, didn’t I, Cas?”  
  
Cas nods, a frown burrowing between his eyebrows making him suddenly look older, wiser somehow.  
  
“You asked me to fuck you, Cas. You want me to.” Cas’s eyes go wide again, wide and innocent before he blushes an even deeper red and nods. Dean’s beginning to wonder if maybe it was the alcohol talking earlier, but really he doesn’t fucking care. He just knows that he’s risking everything to be with this boy, this perfect fucking boy, with those sweet eyes that stare right into him as if they already know all his darkness and don’t care. “Just let me take care of you, Cas. I got you.”  
  
He’s not sure if it’s true or not, he’s not sure if he’s just saying this to get into this kid’s tight body or if he really means it, but he knows that this isn’t what he should be doing. He should be getting this kid’s clothes together, calling him a cab and getting him out of here. He knows that he’s breaking basically every rule he’s ever made just for these eyes and this body. He knows that he was ruined the moment he saw Cas sitting at that table.  
  
So maybe he’s not telling the truth, or maybe he is. All that matter is that he’s gonna keep his word on this. He’ll make it good, he’ll make it sweet, he’ll make it perfect and even if he goes to jail after this, maybe by the time he gets out, someone will be waiting for him on the other side. Someone with blue eyes and messy hair and a frown between their eyebrows.  
  
Cas follows his directions then, lets Dean’s hands guide him onto his front, then up onto all fours so his ass is pushed up into the air. When Dean shifts behind Cas, it’s just as he imagined, but better. His hole is pink and fresh and perfect and when Dean bends his mouth to it and gives it a long stroke with his tongue and feels the way Cas bucks underneath him, he knows that it’s all gonna be fucking  _perfect_.  
  
He opens Cas up slow, first with slow thrusts of his tongue, then with wet fingers. Dean’s careful, using more lube than he normally would just in case, knowing that he can’t risk hurting this one, but hoping that when Cas leaves that he’ll be able to feel Dean in every step he takes. He works one finger in gradually, first circling around the rim and feeling it twitch under his finger, watching the way Cas’s legs shiver and flex as if straining to stop himself from pushing back.  
  
Except that’s what he’s doing minutes later, fucking himself back onto Dean’s middle finger so all Dean has to do is keep a steadying hand on Cas’s lower back and watch while the boy whimpers out all soft as his hole flutters around his digit. When he adds a second finger, Cas pauses for the briefest of moments, his hips undulating and rolling as he adjusts, but when he starts to push back again, Dean continues. His whole body seems to scream at him to just  _claim_  what he wants when he crooks his finger and watches the way Cas’s whole body trembles and lets out a loud cry that the neighbours  _definitely_  heard.  
  
It feels like the air is being forced out of him as he watches Cas move with his fingers, as Cas arches back and pushes his ass out even more, mouth open and wet. But when Cas moans out, “More! More, Dean, more, please!” it feels like he’s been sucker punched, the way the lust kicks through him.  
  
Dean knows he should probably spread him out more, should probably keep fucking him open on his fingers until the kid is gaping (and he imagines that they’ll more time for that in the future, but he knows there won’t be, can’t be), but Dean’s always been a giver. And, well, Cas asked for it.  
  
He’s still careful, still cautious, wrapping himself up with a condom and smearing plenty of lube over his dick, pouring even more over Cas’s hole, even as he finds himself murmuring out, “Gonna fuck you so good, baby. Gonna split you open on my cock, you want that?”  
  
And Cas, innocent, virgin, Cas whimpers right back, “Yes, please, fuck me, please.”  
  
It’s just as tight as Dean knew it would be, impossibly fucking tight and he worries for a moment that he rushed it, that he let his desire get the best of him, but then the head of his cock is slipping past that tight ring of muscle and inside where it’s just as tight and so fucking warm he feels like he’s burning.  
  
He can feel Cas trembling beneath him and finds himself stroking over the boy’s back with his hands, cooing out, “Just relax, Cas, baby. Just take it easy.” It works, though Dean’s never thought of himself as the comforting type and soon he can feel the resistance slip away and when he thrusts his hips forward gently, Cas shudders in his arms and Dean stops worrying so much.  
  
Dean tries, he really does try, to take it easy, to be gentle. He fucks into Cas’s ass with shallow thrusts, hands still stroking over his back, whispering, “You’re doing so good, Cas, so fucking good. So warm and tight for me, so fucking perfect.”  
  
Cas begs for it, of course, his gasps and moans soon filling out with words like, “Yes, oh God, yes, right there. Please,  _please_. Dean. Oh, Dean.”  
  
He lets his thrusts get deeper, lets himself pull out a little more each time before slamming home. Dean can’t stop touching, can’t stop tracing every bit of skin allowed to him, licking over shoulder blades the bend and bow like wings as Cas arches in his grip, fingers biting bruises into the sharp jut of hipbones. His tongue curls out encouragement, telling Cas to wrap a hand around himself, to arch his back just a little more and feel how Dean slides just a bit deeper, how his cock starts bumping right up against that spot that makes Cas howl.  
  
He keeps going until each thrust begins with just the head of his cock inside that ring of muscle and ending with his cock buried deep enough that he sees stars. Dean draws it out as long as he can, alternating between long, slow thrusts that keep him steady, that make Cas whine for more, and short, hard slams of his hips that bring them both to the edge and threaten to push them over.  
  
Dean already knows that nothing will ever be as perfect as this, that he’s reached the mecca and it’s a good place to be with jail hanging over his head.  
  
When he feels Cas’s hole start fluttering around him and the only sounds that fill the room anymore are that of skin slapping against skin and wild pants and moans, Dean knows that it’s over. He holds out as long as he can, waits until Cas starts jerking frantically back against his cock, until he feels the tell-tale shiver of Cas’s body, until he hears shouts of, “Oh, God. Oh,  _Dean_!” before he lets himself come. He thrusts deep, that tight, perfect ass clenching powerfully around him as Cas starts to come and then he’s there too. Dean wonders if this is what it feels like to be struck by lightning, to feel it roll through your body until you feel like you’re gonna burn up from the overwhelming heat of it all.  
  
When they collapse to the bed, they’re sated and happy, Cas’s head resting on Dean’s outstretched arm. They’re both heaving in air like they’ve run a fucking marathon and it definitely feels like they did. A really good, really perverted marathon, but a marathon nonetheless.  
  
They lay there and Dean lets himself pretend that they could stay like this, sated lovers basking in the afterglow, stupid grins on their faces. He lets himself look at Cas, let’s his hand stroke over smooth skin and tries to memorize the color of those eyes.  
  
“Are you okay?” He asks in a whisper, as if anything louder will ruin the moment, which it probably will.  
  
“Yes.” Cas doesn’t say anything more than that, just smiles, a smile that’s soft and just barely there, but it’s still a smile. “I’m more than fine.”  
  
Dean lets out a laugh, “Good.” He stares and stares, wanting to remember this face just as it is, wondering what Cas will look like when he’s older, if that frown between his eyebrows will turn into a wrinkle, if he’ll start getting crow’s feet like Dean has.  
  
He finds himself wishing he could be there to see it.  
  
But he knows it can’t last and, after allowing himself five more minutes of peace, he gets up and yanks on his jeans again.  
  
“You should get going.”  
  
He doesn’t know why Cas looks so confused, but he can understand the hurt that flashes across his face.  
  
It gets awkward then, the two of them searching out clothes and missing items, struggling to find Cas’s coat before Dean remembers hearing it fall to the floor by his apartment door. He offers to go collect it while Cas pulls on those ridiculous dress pants he probably stole from his father’s closet. The coat is right where he thought it would be, nothing more than a pile of cloth forgotten in a moment of passion. He almost decides to tell Cas he couldn’t find it, pretend they lost it on they’re way here or something, just so he could keep a souvenir, but adding theft to his list of charges probably isn’t a good idea.  
  
When he picks the coat up, there’s a soft thump of something hitting the floor and when Dean looks down, Cas’s wallet sits there, face-down and open on the floor. It’s more habit than anything that makes him look at the license sitting clear and visible right in plain sight and he takes a moment to giggle at the ruffle of hair and stern frown on such a young face.  
  
Then he sees the name.  
  
“Hey.” He calls down the hall where he can hear the rustle of cloth, probably Cas pulling his shirt on. “What the hell kinda name is _Casteel_?”  
  
And then his eyes catch on the date of birth.  
  
 _08-20-1984_  
  
Dean is standing there counting with his fingers when Cas -  _Casteel_  - comes in.  
  
“Actually it’s pronounced Cas-ti-el. I’ve been lead to believe it’s from the bible.”  
  
 _August 20, 1984._  
  
What the fuck.  
  
“Is this real?” Dean can’t help asking, holding Castiel’s wallet out to him and he knows that his jaw probably looks like it’s going to touch the floor any second.  
  
“Of course it’s real. How do you think I was able to enter the club?”  
  
Dean’s blushing, he knows it.  
  
“You’re actually twenty-eight?  _Twenty_ - _eight_?”  
  
Now Cas is looking really confused, but he just answers, “Yes. Why? How old do I look?”  
  
Dean has to laugh, has to or he’ll probably just break down. “Not twenty-fucking-eight, that’s for sure.”  
  
It can’t be possible. It cannot be fucking possible that someone with a face like an angel, with such smooth skin, and definitely a fucking virgin can actually be twenty-fucking-eight.  
  
“Twenty-eight. Jesus Christ.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Twenty-eight? And you're actually a virgin? At twenty-eight?”  
  
“I was-- I just, I never had the time." Cas's eyes are darting all over the apartment now, that blush seepeing back over his pretty face, "I work.”   
  
“Wow.”  
  
“ _Yes_.”  
  
They’re silent for a long moment before Cas finally holds out his hand for his over coat. “I believe I was on my way out.”  
  
But Dean doesn’t give the coat back. He just stand there staring like an idiot, staring at this impossibly perfect and young face, this face that he was praying he’d see again, but knew he wouldn’t. Except now he could. Except now every opportunity was laid out before him.  
  
So he took it.  
  
“You can have it back. But first you need to get out of those clothes and get back into my bed--”  
  
“I am confused. I thought--”  
  
“And you can have it back in the morning.” Dean doesn’t want to let go of the coat, worried that if he puts it down Cas will snatch it up and take his chance to get away from the crazy that must be Dean’s face in this moment.  
  
“In the morning?” Clarity is starting to spread over Cas’s face, along with that secret smile.  
  
“Yeah. In the morning.” Dean grabs Cas’s hand, starts pulling him back into the bedroom. “After I make you breakfast."  
  
“Breakfast?”  
  
“Do you like pancakes?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Good. You can have your coat back after breakfast. And after morning sex.”  
  
There’s no more questions, just the slow spread of a grin over that angel face.  
  
“Yes, Dean.”


End file.
